I'm Glad He's not Around
by In Love with the Stars
Summary: Nick ends up moving in with Caroline, and Jess's world falls apart.
1. I Guess I'm on my Own

My chest aches.

Slowly, I uncurl from my fetus position and stare at the blinking clock. 2:30pm. It's been two days since Nick left, and here I still am, still wearing my baggiest sweatpants, still clutching the flowery pillow, still trying to escape from the world around me. I hate this. I'm not the type of person who gets so horribly miserable. Usually, I can see the bright side in things. Usually, I am able to hide my heartbreak and paste a toothy smile on my face.

Not today.

I moan as I stretch my arms out slightly. They're incredibly stiff. I haven't even been out of my room within the last two days. Tomorrow is monday, but I'll probably skip work. Every part of me feels heavy: every limb, every thought, every feeling. I have never felt so alone and helpless before. This feeling is so foreign to me.

"Jess," I hear a soft knock on the door and bury my face into my arms. Rain is pouring outside, adding to the miserable feeling I wish would go away. Tip-toeing, I shut the blinds.

"_Jess."_

Groaning, I muster up a response. "Go away, Schmidt."

"Jessica Day, you have to eat. Would you rather come out here and get the food yourself?"

Since I don't want to leave my cave of despair, I reluclantly let him in. Schmidt walks over to my bedside table, carefully places the soup, and sits precariously on the edge of my bed.

"Are you okay, Jess?" he says, grave seriousness on his face. It seems like when it comes to Nick, Schimdt knows how to deal with seriousness. Maybe he's caught on to how fragile I am.

I dip the tiny silver spoon into my soup and take a gulp. "Fine," I answer, my voice cracking. Avoiding his gaze, I take another spoonful and fixate my gaze on an invisible spot on the carpet.

He knows. My expression says it all. "Jess," he says lightly, crossing his legs. "He asked us to go meet him for dinner tonight."

I almost choke on my soup. _What? _Who does Nick think he is? That he can just leave us all for an ex who doesn't care about him and expect us to be fine with it? That sharp feeling returns to my chest again, and I feel like I'm about to start hypervenilating.

"No," I say, my lips barely moving. Schimdt considers my uncrafted response and considers a moment; then, he takes a deep breath and looks at me with so much sympathy it breaks my heart.

"I know..." he trails off, his eyes dark. "I know how hard this is for you, Jess. I mean... I understand. But he wants to see us so badly. It's his life. We can't tell him what to do. And we can't just ditch him, can we? No, we're his friends."

In some way he's right, but I can't do it. Nick isn't a friend anymore. He's a stranger. A stranger I am starting to lose memory of, a little more everyday. A stranger I only see in dreams, who haunts me. For my own good, I need to let him go.

"He has a new friend," I say, and for some reason, I want to start crying. I'm afraid if I finish my sentence I'm going to break into sobs. But I need to say this, and, gathering up all the courage I have left, I say, "He has Caroline. And who says I want to be friends with him? Tell him I said to have a nice life."

Schmidt looks very taken back. I'm not surprised. In the loft, we may have had our arguments, but no way have we ever considered giving up on our friendship. We're basically a family. To him, it sounds like I'm disowning Nick.

"I'll tell him you were sick," he replies, and walks out the door. Once I hear the door shut, I crawl into a heap of strewn clothes on the floor and start to cry. I hate how small this loft is. I hate how I have to make an effort to muffle my sobs. And most of all, I hate Nick. I really, really do.

He was the person I connected most to in the loft. He was the once I talked to, fought with, took his side in arguments. He was always there, too, so I always had someone to count on. Someone to help me through. Now, here I am, Jessica Day with all the light sucked out of her. The rosiness drained from her cheeks. The pep from her step. I am sitting in my room, alone, clutching a pillow, my hair greasy, all because of him.

The rain starts to subside, dissolving into a soft drizzle. I hear Winston and Schmidt leave, the door clicking behind them. _You could catch up with them, Jess. Stop making things harder than they have to be. _A part of me itches to throw on clean clothes and catch up with them on the elevator, but I don't. Instead, I watch the raindrops slide down the window, mirroring the melancholy in my face.

_I like you a lot, Jess. I'm glad you're around._

The words still haunt me, still make their way into my head and almost make me choke. I glance at the clock again. 6:30. How did time fly that fast? Usually, time drags on like a form of torture. And why are they eating so early?

As I lay my head on the ruffled carpet, I close my eyes, one thought running in my mind as I drift off to sleep:

_I like you a lot, Jess. I'm glad you're around._

I wake up in a daze. Frazzled, I make sense of my jumbled thoughts and realize from the sunlight spilling in my room that it's morning. The smell of bacon fills my nose, and I quickly yank my robe closed and walk into the small kitchen. Even Winston is up, and both him and Schmidt are up, rummaging through cupboards and arranging the table. There is so much happiness and lightness in this room I want to scream. Didn't Nick just leave a few days ago? What's going on?

Both of them seem oblivious to my presence until Winston speaks up. "Good morning, Jess," he says, brewing coffee. Schmidt nods and checks on the eggs.

"How was dinner?" I say, casually, drumming my fingers on the counter. Aren't they deppressed?

"Great," Schmidt says. "We were wrong about Caroline."

"What?" I say, my heart pounding frantically. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"They were such a nice couple," Winston adds, his tone the same. "She's really changed, Jess. I never thought I'd get to say this, but she's changed."

_Changed? Changed? _I repeat the word repeatedly in my head, each time angrier. What the hell? She hasn't changed! She stole Nick!

"We're eating dinner at their place, tonight," Schmidt smiles and offers me a strip of bacon. I decline. "Do you want to come?"

Cardboard boxes. Empty fridge. Playing TV. A place from scratch. An unused bed. Caroline and Nick's bed. Where they sleep, where they fall asleep to the sound of each other's heartbeats. Where they connect, where they get used to each other's habits. Where they fall in love, where they stay in love.

"No," I say. Before they can reply, I fling my jacket on and dash outside. I need to get away. I need to clear my head.

Moving bodies fade around me, and I avoid them as I dodge through the streets, breaking into a run. I can't do this. I honestly, truly can't.

I find myself under a shady tree in the park, isolated from everyone else. I see couples, hand in hand. Couples, kissing on park benches behind newspapers. I don't even register the fact that Winston and Schmidt are making their way towards me.

"Jess!" Winston calls. I suck in a breath and ignore them. Finally, they arrive, sitting next to me on the ground.

"Jess," Schdmit says, out of breath. "What has gotten into you?"

"Nothing," I say.

"Nick told us to tell you to feel better, by the way."

_Thermometers. Medicine cabinets. Sick days. Fixing Caroline chicken soup. Kissing her forehead and watching her sleep. Worrying. Caring._

"Why can't you guys leave me alone?" I burst out. All a sudden all the anger and frustraion building over the last few days take over me, and I can't stand it anymore. "Why do you fucking care so much? Just because you like Nick doesn't mean I do. I hate his guts. I really, really do. I'm glad I don't have to deal with him anymore. I'm glad he isn't around," I shudder over that last line, Nick's drunken words replaying in my head. "Him moving out was the best thing that ever happened to me. So stop acting like you care anymore. I don't like you guys, either. Don't ever talk to me, again."

They don't protest as I storm away. I am no longer that sweet, adorable girl who arrived in their apartment with bags in her hands. I'm just dead. In the most literal sense besides the truth.

Maybe I should move out. But I can't stomach it, honestly. So I'll just have to stop talking to them. Come in and out. Lock myself in my room. Wake up early and leave for work. Get breakfast on the way.

Maybe it's time, like Nick, I stop trying to force myself into a life that no longer suits me anymore. Maybe it's time to leave and forget the scars I left behind.

As I shuffle into the loft, the phone rings. I mindlessly pick it up, numb as hell and surely not in the mood to talk. My heart drops when I hear the gruff, familiar voice on the other line.

"Jess."

I don't say anything. I don't move. I just stand there and try to figure out how to speak.

"Jess?"

I hang up. I can't do this, I can't. Instead, I run into my room and throw my clothes into a suitcase. I get my phone, my laptop, everything I own. Once all my bags are packed, it's well past dark. With a shaking hand, I write a note on a yellow post-it:

Dear boys,

I'm sorry for my outburst earlier, but this is for the best.

-Jess

With no hesitation, I leave it all behind. The loft, my family, the world that I had built up over the course of the last year. I let it all fade into my memory. I don't look back.


	2. Going to Cece's

When I arrive at Cece's, she knows right away something's wrong. Maybe it 's the forced slope of my smile, the glassiness of my blue eyes, or the pink drained from my red cheeks. No matter what she observes, she doesn't even ask me further before picking up my suitcase and dropping it safely by her coat rack.

We still haven't said a thing as she makes me tea. I bite my lip and steady my breathing as she boils the water and prepares the mix. Once everything's settled, she pulls up a chair next to me and looks at me, steady eye contact.

"What happened?" she asks. But, in some way, she already knows. She already knows how badly I miss Nick, she already knows that when he left so did Jessica Day. But she's waiting to know why I stormed out of the loft, bags packed, eyes red and burning.

There are so many different ways I could explain this to her, so many different ways I could tell the story. I could start with Nick's departure and work up to this afternoon. But my stomach is twisted and I feel physically sick and everything is so confusing, so I choke out the simplest response I can think of, "I messed up, Cece. I really messed up."

She searches my face for a more void answer. When I don't offer one, she runs to the living room and brings me a blanket. As I wrap it around my shoulders, she pours hot water into a pastel green mug and hands it to me, letting me take my time.

Finally, when I feel the nausea has passed, I tuck the blanket to my chin, take a sip of the tea, and as the mint taste fills my mouth, I sputter: "I moved out of the loft."

Her long fingers wrap around her own mug and she looks at me, unbiased, her voice drained of sarcasm. "I can see that."

I sigh, knowing I'm not making this easier for her. But how can I tell a story I don't even understand myself? The memory was fading around the edges, still a guazy picture I had yet to decipher. Right now, I was a mess: tear-stained and blubbering and unable to form a complete thought. I'm so tired. Cece looks at me, and, with a soft voice, asks, "Do you want to talk about it in the morning?"

Biting my lip, I nod. She gives me a comforting smile and wraps her arms around my shoulders before drifting quietly off to her bedroom. It only seems like a matter of seconds before she returns with a fresh pair of pajamas, a pillow, and a pink towel.

"Are you okay with sleeping on the couch?" she asks, rubbing her head. I nod, not meeting her eyes. Once I hear her footsteps slowly fade away, I grab my supplies and run into the bathroom, holding my breath.

The girl in the mirror is not bright, sunny Jessica Day. I expected that, though. Instead, I see a figure with cracked pink lips, pale cheeks, and tear rimmed eyes. My fingertips feel the splotchy spots where tears dried. Sighing, I shimmy out of my clothes and start a warm bath, my head spinning.

I wonder what Nick's doing right now. Thinking of him is sort of an unhealthy therapy, and I need to stop it. But how can I stop it? His memory burns in my mind like a fire that refuses to go out. Like a bruise that never really goes away. All I can picture is my stupid, scruffy-faced roommate, the pessimistic one who practiced the language of sarcasm, who balanced out sweet, lovely Jessica day.

But now I'm the oppisote of what I was. It's so funny how I didn't realize how much he meant until now.

Sighing, I step into the tub and the warm feeling hits me instantly. As relaxed as I am on the outside, my mind refuses to calm, which makes my chest rise and fall and my breathing shorter and quicker.

_Nick and Caroline cuddling on the couch, watching the game..._

My stomach lurches.

_Nick forgetting Jessica Day..._

My breath catches and I squirm uncomfortably. He can't forget me. Can he? Did I ever really matter that much, anyway?

The bath doesn't last too long. I'm both physically and emotionally exhausted, and I just need to get away. So, I turn the faucet, dry quickly with my towel, and slide into my pajamas. I sludge towards the couch and slowly drift away, the same words as always turning my stomach upisde down as I fall asleep...

_ I like you a lot, Jess. I'm glad you're around._

When I wake up, it's well past noon, and Cece's unsurprisingly at work. I fawn happily over the fact that today was a development day at my school, so I'm not expected to show up. I wonder if I'll ever go back to work. Right now, that seems like an impossible option.

I pour myself some cereal and turn on the TV, my fingers pressing in the remote buttons. All the programs are sappy love comedies, so I cringe and shut it off, willing this feeling away.

I try to figure out what I'll tell Cece when she gets home. I figure I'll start at the beginning.

**Note: So this isn't my best work. I sort of rush through these. When I write more fics in the future I promise I'll take my time, but now I'm sort of getting used to this whole fanfiction thing. Review!**


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